Godfall
by deathgodtime
Summary: The fall of Vale has thrown the world into a state of unrest. Salem is continually pressing her advantage, and all hope seems lost for the now scattered resistance. Perhaps the last hope of humanity lies in seven young hunters, split across Remnant. Will they succeed? Or will they, too, fall?


**I figured i should give a brief synopsis of where I'm going with this story. Chances are, the pairings, if they occur, will be solely partnerships. The story in general takes pff from post Volume 3 with no alterations, but a few liberties were taken with some areas the canon did not look at.**

 **Updates will probably happen whenever my writing ability comes to me, which is kind of rare.**

 **Enjoy.**

Not for the first time, Ozpin sighed.

It was only to be expected that everything would go so catastrophically wrong in his tenure alone.

Fortunately, Ozpin was not a man who neglected to prepare his own contingencies.

Gazing across a vibrant green meadow, the headmaster of the pile of rubble once called Beacon reminisced of simpler times. There was, after all, a reason he had come here.

Cinder walking into the basement at such an opportune moment was surprising, but not altogether unexpected. She did have quite a knack for ruining things. Ozpin could have worked with that alone.

Remembering the events following that, however, the aged professor dropped his head into his hands.

He had gambled upon his ability to let Jaune and Pyrrha get away, and it had cost him dearly.

Ozpin was not at all a weak man. His power far surmounted even that of the maiden-enhanced Cinder, but he was wise, or stupid, enough to not play his full hand. After a particularly explosive collision in the battle, he simply disappeared. All that he left behind was his cane as a trinket for the inner circle under him.

What Ozpin could not have predicted, however, was Pyrrha. The hero complex seemed to have dominated her for a moment, compelling her to do an incredibly rash thing; attempt to fight a Maiden alone, at the peak of their power.

And now she was gone.

Weary brown eyes looked at the field before them, endlessly calculating, conspiring, planning.

This plain was the birthplace of the Nevermore.

Surrounded by a strange amalgam of rocks and dead trees, this was once a great Dust deposit. The natural boundaries gave the enclosure a much needed protection from the primeval Beowolves and Boarbatusks that roamed beyond. However much the Grimm battered and beat at the rocks, they would never access the Nature's Wrath.

For ages, these Grimm tried to find their way in. Eventually, through some strange wonder of evolution, the early Beowolf developed wider front legs, a sharper snout, and had its oddity of fur replaced with even stranger feathers. This anomaly grew larger and larger until it was the apex predator of the unique Grimm forest ecosystem, at which point it began to proliferate.

After generations, the Grimm gained the ability to fly. Their savage perseverance finally paid off and granted them access to the isolated field at last. In an odd twist of fate, it turned out that Dust was a poison to the beasts, being comprised almost purely of energy.

Perhaps it was a testament to the proposition that hatred, too, will help one soar to greater heights.

With this history in mind, Ozpin strode through the area, analyzing small samples of deceased Grimm dust. The composition and quantity of the powder that marked a dead monster allowed a practiced scientist to identify its species.

The Nevermore was first spotted several hundred years ago, and following its discovery, several permutations of the Grimm were found, at an alarmingly increasing rate, until 10 years before the fall of Beacon, at which point they simply stopped.

It was perplexing to all those who studied Grimm biology. Even the esteemed Professor Port, who was at the forefront of his field, could not find an explanation as to why genetic mutations in the Grimm simply ceased.

Ozpin, however, had an inkling as to the cause.

Grimm, at some point around 10 years before the fall, had become incredibly systematic. The newly organized packs migrated out of the deep wilderness of the mainland and into the outskirts of civilization, where they stood dormant.

Almost as if they were waiting for something.

Or someone.

Salem had evidently begun her campaign with a few oversights.

All that remained was to see if the world could stop her.


End file.
